


Rain

by aterribleinfluence



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Minor Angst, One Shot, minor fluff, minor smut, very very minor plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 10:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13611459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aterribleinfluence/pseuds/aterribleinfluence
Summary: “She kisses him because she doesn’t know what else to do, because she can hardly bear to stop, because she could spend the rest of her life kissing him until the world burns to ash around them and regret not a second of it.”We interrupt your regularly scheduled hardcore-porn-with-fluff for some mild-porn-with-angst. A little first-time-in-Polis one shot for the kabbysex anniversary :)





	Rain

Abby stands at the window, looking out over the city, watching the rain.

She loves the way the rain smells; it is one of the little miracles the ground has to offer that she could never have dreamed in a thousand years of cold space. She breathes it in, great greedy lungfuls of it, the sweet, damp perfume, clouds and wet leaves and tilled earth.

Soon the rain will mean death too. But tonight it’s washing away the blood on the streets, cleansing the city of the filth and horror of ALIE’s rule.

“Abby.”

She jumps a little at the sound of her name, still on edge, but it’s only Marcus coming through the door, closing it behind him. He’s been outside again, evidenced by his sodden hair and clothes, and Abby is struck all over again by how much a _part_ of this world Marcus feels, in tune with it in a way she never has been. He looks tired, but not lost, not like she feels.

The knot in her stomach unclenches at the sight of him and she goes to him instinctively, only stopping at the last moment, curling her hands into fists to crush the instinct to touch him, assure herself once again of his safety.

“How is it out there?” she asks, as if she doesn’t know.

“Quiet. For now.”

She nods. He doesn’t have to tell her about the kind of quiet it is – not peace, but a kind of stunned disbelief at what has happened, grief and anger hanging over the city like a thick cloud. The rain has kept it at bay for now, but there is still tension in the air. Abby has spent most of the day doing what she can for the wounded; though most Grounders won’t allow a Skaikru healer to so much as touch them, she has earned enough trust with Roan that he wasn’t fool enough to turn away her help when offered.

Marcus, she knows, has been talking to the other Ambassadors, or at least trying to. And she has no doubt he has been helping to move the bodies too, because it’s a task that needs doing and there are few enough people willing to do it.

“How do we move on from this?” Abby says, her voice almost a whisper, and she’s not sure even as she says it whether she’s asking for all of them, or just the two of them here, in this room.

“I don’t know.” Marcus sounds as weary as she feels, and it strikes Abby that not so long ago he would never have said those words to her, would never have let himself appear so vulnerable. “We have to try.”

“Focus on what comes next?”

He almost smiles. “I’m not sure I even have the energy for that tonight. Right now I’m just trying to focus on what needs to be dealt with _now_. The people we can help. The work that has to be done.” He hesitates, running his hand through his hair distractedly. “I hate to say this, but...as bad as things seem now, it could have been a lot worse.”

From anyone else it would sound like an empty platitude, but a traitorous part of Abby has been thinking the same thing, and it’s almost a relief to hear it aloud.

“I know,” she says. “It’s a miracle any of us are alive. If it hadn’t been for Clarke and the others, we could have lost everything.”

Something flickers in his eyes and Marcus steps closer, reaching out to caress her face briefly, the lightest brush of fingertips that sets her pulse fluttering.

“Yes,” he says softly. “We could have.”

There’s no doubt now that he isn’t speaking for all of them, and Abby feels her chest constrict with emotion, unable to speak. This is the first time they have been alone together since all this began, and now she feels there is so much to say she doesn’t know where to start.

There is a long moment with only the sound of the rain outside, and his eyes locked with hers, the future balancing on a knife edge between them. Marcus lets out a long breath, almost a sigh.

“I should—“

Abby doesn’t let him finish the thought.

“Don’t go.” She tries to not to sound as if she’s begging, but it’s no use. “Please. Stay with me.”

He nods, perhaps not trusting himself to speak. He understands what she’s asking. He reaches for her – just the gentle, tentative touch of his hand on her shoulder – and it is so natural, so _easy_ to collapse into his arms. Relief crashes through her like a wave, an almost physical force that makes her knees weak. Alive. They’re both alive. She buries her face in his shirt, breathing deep as he holds her. He smells like the rain – damp and earthy – and underneath, the warm animal scent of skin. It’s faintly arousing in a primal kind of way. It makes her think of forests, and fire, and the furs on the bed.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, stroking her hair. “I’m here.”

He pulls away enough only to cup her face in his hands and kiss her, softly, on the lips. Abby is surprised, for a moment, that he would be so sure of this even after everything they’ve been through, but she melts into his kiss without hesitation, lips parting readily beneath his.

It is slow and sweet and tender, everything they have been denied until now. The kind of kiss that makes everything else fade away. Marcus kisses her as if they have all the time in the world, and Abby kisses him back, wanting desperately to believe it. When he pulls away gently, she follows him, capturing his lips again, not wanting the moment to end. She feels him stiffen slightly in surprise before responding eagerly, their fragile moment of connection changing slowly into something deeper, more passionate.

When they finally part Marcus looks slightly dazed, at once hopeful and uncertain, and Abby finds that even knowing they still have _this_ is a relief; this familiar longing, tempered by caution. The way that even now, when there is no more reason to hide from each other, Marcus still can’t quite believe it. She smiles, her first real smile in a long time, and slides her hand down to rest lightly on his chest.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” she says.

He smiles back. “I know.”

They kiss and kiss and kiss, their lips and bodies moulding to each other, soft and immutable. He tastes of the summer rain too; sweet and warm and eager, a new beginning. His body against hers is as firm and fundamental as the earth beneath her feet and in his arms Abby feels the same _rightness_ as she did when she first came here, when she first felt the sun on her skin and the wind in her hair. Home. This is _home_ – not him, not exactly, but this feeling. The feeling of being held, of being needed. Of being loved.

She clutches at his hair, the thick, wet curls sliding through her fingers. His hands on her back slip under the hem of her shirt, and the sensation of cool air on her skin makes her gasp against his lips. His hands tracing the curve her spine, cool against her warm skin, are shockingly intimate, unbearably erotic.

The world stutters as his fingers brush the raised scars on the small of her back. It feels a lifetime ago, and she thinks, looking up into his anguished eyes, that the scars he bears from that day are more painful than hers ever were.

“I would have taken every lash for you,” he says, his voice hardly above a whisper. “A hundred times over.”

“I know,” she says. “Even then I knew.”

She kisses him because they can’t have this conversation, not here, not now. She kisses him because she doesn’t know what else to do, because she can hardly bear to stop, because she could spend the rest of her life kissing him until the world burns to ash around them and regret not a second of it.

Then she takes his hands in hers and raises his bandaged wrists to her lips, brushing softly against the clean white gauze.

“We’ve both left our marks on each other,” she says.

He opens his mouth to speak, to reassure, to comfort, but it isn’t what Abby needs. She stops his words with a look, and stops his mouth with her own. Heat blossoms through her body, racing through her veins, pounding in rhythm with the rain outside. She presses against him, arcing, raising onto her toes, wanting to be closer, wanting more, more, _more._ Marcus tightens his arms around her, crushing her to him, a helpless sound of desire rumbling from his throat. She feels suddenly, exquisitely _aware_ of herself, of her body as a physical thing entwined with his, his tongue in her mouth, her hands in his hair, the soft swell of her breasts against his firm chest, both of them warm and alive and _hungry._

They part only for breath, both panting, raw. Marcus’ chest is heaving, every lean, muscular plane and angle of his body palpable to her, his arousal pressing firmly against her hip. Abby catches his bottom lip between her teeth, nuzzling at his nose with her own. She feels him smile, and in this moment he is the sky above her and the earth beneath her feet.

“I need you,” she whispers.

He groans, all but sweeps her off her feet, and they fall onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and lips and frantic, grasping hands, tugging at clothes.

“You have me,” he says. “I’m yours.” He breathes it against her skin, over and over. “I’m yours. I’m yours.”

_I’m yours._

She re-learns it; the vibrant, joyful language of desire. This is how it feels to have a lover’s soft mouth on your skin, this is how your name sounds on his lips, this is how his heartbeat pounds under his skin, how he holds you close, how his fingers trail down your spine, caressing, tender and reverent.

It is at once new and achingly familiar. When he’s finally inside her she buries her face in his shoulder, bites her lip to stop the sob from escaping her throat, afraid that he’ll misunderstand and think he’s hurt her. For the first time in so, _so_ long she feels perfect and whole, both safely anchored and finally free. They move together in a beautiful, imperfect rhythm, like waves crashing against the shore and she is shuddering, flying, rising and rising and rising until the sky above her shatters and an ocean of bliss crashes over her, sweeping her away.

Marcus catches her as she falls, cradles her to his chest, murmurs her name into her hair over and over like a blessing, as if he can hardly believe the truth of her in his arms. He is all perfect fact to her and she is still half a dream to him, so she rolls him to his back and pins him beneath her and _makes_ him believe it.

After, when they are sprawled naked and breathless, the sound of the rain drumming outside like a racing heartbeat, he opens his eyes and smiles at her, and Abby’s heart nearly breaks because she has _never_ , not in a lifetime of knowing him, seen Marcus Kane smile like that.

“Not a dream,” he murmurs. It takes her a moment to understand, but when she does she replies with a smile of her own.

“No. Not a dream.”

“Thank God,” he says fervently.

Abby laughs at that, surprising herself with the sound that bubbles up from her chest. It’s been a long time since she’s laughed, she realises, and it feels good, another kind of release. His smile widens and the corners of his eyes crinkle and his whole face shines with boundless joy for the simple pleasure of having made her happy, and Abby thinks: _when did I become this to him? When did he become this to me?_

They sleep a little, dozing in the cradle of an embrace, lulled by the rain. Her hands are restless on his skin, moving, tracing, discovering him, reassuring herself of him. His are steady, content simply to hold her close.

This is...a moment. A temporary respite, nothing more. It is a truth they both know and one that doesn’t need voicing aloud; that tomorrow will bring another endless struggle, another impossible choice, another tragedy in slow motion. She wonders if this time they will make it through without being torn to pieces. It seems to be their lot in life to be the survivors, to sift through the wreckage of old lives and try to build something new out of them, and it gets harder every time. Abby is tired of it all, weary in an indescribable, bone-deep way, and sometimes she thinks the end will be a relief, when it comes. But right here, right now...she holds on to this moment. This flicker of light in the darkness, something _good_ she and Marcus have found together that cannot be extinguished no matter what tomorrow brings. Right here, right now, she is happy.

She’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

When she next opens her eyes Marcus is gazing at her in that warm, tender way that makes her feel almost shy, unworthy of such open adoration. He brushes a wisp of hair from her temple, his touch lingering on her face, a tentative caress. His hand is shaking, just a little, and when he opens his mouth to speak Abby knows what the words will be a heartbeat before they leave him.

“I love you.”

His voice is soft and dazed, as though he is surprised even now at the truth of it, or perhaps just at his daring to say it aloud.

“I love you...”

There is a certainty in repetition, a realness that solidifies with each breath. He uses the truth like a scalpel, laying her open with every word, and Abby’s heart is dying, shattering under the immensity of feeling. She kisses him now because she’s not sure she is capable of speech, and nothing she could say would be enough. She twines around him, arms around his back, legs tangled with his own, kissing every inch of him she can reach; mouth, neck, eyelids, hair...Marcus _moans_ , a low, ardent sound of pleasure and desire and _love_. She can feel it in his every breath mingled with her own, every touch of his hands, in the urgent response of his body to hers.

“I love you,” he gasps, between hot, desperate kisses, as though a dam has been broken and the words spill from him unbidden, relentless. “I love you, Abby, my Abby...”

She can feel the tears burning at the back of her eyes as she clings to him, for happiness or anguish she hardly knows. He loves her. He loves her, and Abby never thought she would have this again, this joy, this _completeness_ ; she believed for so long that she would spend the rest of her life alone because that was all she deserved, and now Marcus is here, loving her wholly and unreservedly, and she feels she might break down and sob from the cruelty of it.

He loves her, and in a few months, they are all going to die.

She can’t say that to him, can’t shatter the unshakable faith Marcus has that they will find a way through this. He will fight to the end, no matter what the end may be, because that’s who he is. It’s who they both are. She can’t tell him that this time it might not be enough, that she’s clinging to this moment because it might be all they have.

And so she says the only thing she can, simply because in this moment, right here, right now, she knows it to be true.

“I love you,” she whispers.

As she says it, she looks into his eyes and realises with a feeling almost like grief that he had never once, not for a moment, expected to hear it back.

And outside, the rain stops.

* * *

 


End file.
